


Ashes Am I, And Dust

by SpicySannd



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, It's them... But in a minecraft world... AU..., M/M, Mild Gore, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicySannd/pseuds/SpicySannd
Summary: Brown, murky-ish eyes meet fierce and passionate green. They smile fondly, warm hands clinging to one another, laughter filling the air, harmonizing with the summer wind.Not even the world could keep them apart.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Ashes Am I, And Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is purely fictional and does in no way intend for slander/libel. In the event any of the youtubers included in this fic claim to feel uncomfortable with this story, or Dream and George feel uncomfortable with shipping, the fic will be taken down immediately. 
> 
> Not proof-read, prepare for possible spelling mistakes or something similar. The chapter may or may not be edited later.
> 
> Without further ado, please sit back and enjoy the ride.

_Ink travels rapidly across parchment, a sharp blade dancing across each paper-thin thread with grace, a shining void that is left imprinted as a footstep in the finest of untouched snow._

_“O wayfarer, the one with a heart of ice. Never will you settle down wayfarer, your loneliness your only own. Never will you settle down wayfarer, O never will you settle down.”_

.

The young man exhales, shakingly, his breath visible in the freezing air that prickles at his skin like thousands of tiny blades.

He’s nearly drowning in the worn-out, brownish, as far as he’s been told it is, fur coat, as it hangs on his skeletal figure like an enormous blanket of wool. One he fondly remembers cuddling with years back, as if he had felt the familiar fabric in his hands like it was yesterday. The coat hardly does its supposedly job to keep the male warm, but he can hardly complain when it so far has kept him away from the deathly grasp of the cold.

The brunet’s attention comes to solemnly focus on the branch in his hand, carving away at it like he has done so many times before. The golden arrowheads are carved as well, a signature pattern that can faintly be felt with the mere brush of a finger, though he admittedly feels little to nothing as most of his exposed skin is numb due to the freezing winter-air.

With tired eyes, yet nonetheless filled with an invincible fire the winter will never be able to choke, the brunet sets out to hunt as darkness slowly creeps over the snow covered forest, inviting out any prey that thinks they might be safe for the night.

Arrows fly in the night, wind brushing its nimble fingers through white feathers, the sound of a bow string snapping against strong wood, echoing through pine trees as a quiet message of death.

The brunet treads through icy snow, emerging through thick branches and trees. He isn’t able to see much as darkness now roams the peaceful landscape around him. Snow falls from the gothic heavens above, and though the brown-eyed male only managed to shoot a single hare; he can practically smell the blizzard that will be upon him in a matter of minutes. He turns to retrace his footprints in the snow before the snowflakes can cover them.

A sound bounces around the area, the familiar sound of a twig snapping, faint, but the brunet hears it clearly in the dead of the night.

He stops dead in his tracks.

His numb hand tightens around his bow, his last arrow resting between his bony fingers, ready to target whatever may lung from him out of the shadows.

Yet, nothing but silence and the dim sensation of wind picking up remains the only disturbance to the brunet. The short boy remains wary as he turns back to his steps once again.

Right until the unmistakable symphony of foreign, heavy steps wandering across snowy land, shortly takes over the silence.

The brunet draws his bow as he scans the area surrounding him, eyes of a hawk, daring whatever mysterious force to show itself. It doesn’t help that the blizzard he predicted is slowly forming, which means howling winds easily deafen smaller sounds.

He feels watched.

Snow blocks most of his vision, his eyes sting with whatever moist that lies bare to the icy wind. He picks up more footsteps, closer this time, as he whips around as fast as the arrows he shoots, yet nothing remains. An uneasy notion to run crept down his spine, like ice crystals, the patterns spreading and spreading against his will. His lungs fill with air at an unhealthy pace.

New steps vibrate through the ground, all the way into the core of the brunet’s heart. He turns, angry red, cold fingers pry against splintered, old wood, chicken feathers tickling against fingers on his other.

He isn’t fast enough.

The chocolate-haired male is struck down by something knocking into his temple from behind, his body sliding against the snow and down a small hill at quick speed. Pain, cold, so many uncomfortable sensations intrudes in his body and mind as he comes to stop in front of a tree, and he can barely open his eyes, which had automatically closed upon the brutal impact. Bow and arrow gone from his surroundings, the bag with the hare snuggling uncomfortably into his side as he practically lays on it.

He strains himself to open his eyes. His vision, unstable, tree tops tripling and snowflakes doubling. The male feels dizzy, completely shocked from how off guard he had been caught.

Steps waltz closer, probably whatever, or rather, whoever attacked him, the boy guesses. The brunet soon finds someone to loom over him, or is two people? His vision makes it hard to tell.

The figure, the stranger, is dark. That’s the only way the brunet can currently describe him in his state, the moonlight hidden away by gloomy clouds, making the stranger all the more curious, like a monster born from darkness, from a mysterious, terrifying void.

The dark figure crouches down to him, and the brunet is seemingly forgotten as rough hands reach to untie the rope around his hips, which contains the bag with the hare.

As his attacker struggles with the knot, the brunet is quick to regain enough focus to kick in his fight or flight sensation, adrenalin slowly but surely coming to pump his veins and make his skin boil. Although his vision remains slightly blurry, and the corners of his eyes threaten to overtake with darkness, he fights against gravity with primal survival instincts chewing at his nerves, reaching up with a hand unnoticed.

Faster than the speed of a single snowflake slicing through air in the dark blizzard, the brunet draws back and flings his fist into the stranger’s face, a surprised yelp seemingly resonating in his ears. The other person falls back as the short male rolls over and onto his knees. He almost stumbles while leaping off, the brown-eyed male is sure he trips multiple times.

But he keeps on running.

“Come here!” a deep voice yells from behind him, but the brunet barely registers the words. His ears are ringing, his surroundings moving in all sorts of directions, energy slipping up and replacing itself with exhaustion and pain, his malnourished body unable to keep up with this sort of abuse. Legs feel strained, and something wet dribbles down the side of his face, but he can’t stop now.

The situation evolves into a wild goose-chase through spiky pine trees. The blizzard is raging, causing the tickle of a sore throat to make itself home within the brunet, and howling winds stab at his fragile red ears that aren’t used to such dramatic temperature drops.

If the brown-haired male looks back, he fears the other might get an upper hand on him.

They dash through several trees before the brunet finally slips, a frozen pond choosing to betray him in his time of need.

The other male crashes onto him, and they desperately wrestle to overpower one another, strong hands clasping his small wrists that causes the brunet to grunt out in pain. He kicks up at the stranger on top of him, right in the stomach, which sends the other into a breathless world as his grip on the brunet loosens. Said brunet almost cries out with frustration, throwing his faceless attacker into the snow beside them as he attempts to get back up. Unfortunately, the stranger is right back on his tail as he tugs against his fur coat upon the brunet turning around.

“Let- go of me!” The skinny brunet grits out between clenched teeth, cheeks growing pink with anger mixing with exhaustion.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” a laugh barks out from behind him, and the brunet is only tugged further back, hands moving downwards from his coat to his leg to pull him further into a clearing.

The moment he feels the stranger let go, he thrashes onto his feet and runs further into the darkest parts of the terrain.

To his bad luck, he comes to a quick stop as he comes face to face with the edge of a cliff. From his quick observations, it isn’t too far down to kill someone from falling down in.

The short male glances back to the trees, the dark figure running towards him with a wicked grin painted on his face. The male moves his gaze back to over the cliff.

At the very least, it would severely injure.

The other’s body collides with his, but this time, the brunet stands his ground. He blocks the faceless stranger from grasping around his throat, trying to choke him into lifelessness. Without thinking too much, the brunet uses his bodyweight to turn them around, the stranger now facing the cliff.

As they are now facing each other, the shorter male is able to make out certain features about his attacker. A mask is shielding nearly the whole of his face, mouth just barely visible with glinting white teeth that grins sadistically. Blond hair rustles violently in the snowy wind, a bit longer than his own brown locks.

Time slows as he feels an overwhelming desire to lift the mask off of his attacker’s face, to reveal whatever secret identity the other male has decided should be hidden from the world, out in the wilderness where crows turn around.

He lightly shakes his head, the brunet scolding himself for letting his focus and thoughts wander, especially in a life or death situation.

He takes a deep breath, staring deep into the mask in front of him, as if he could see the eyes of the other male. Muscles twitch with a last shock of adrenaline washing over his system, and he roughly pushes the blond out over the cliff, quickly backing off as to not let the other male grasp onto him and pull him down as well.

A panicked yell harmonizes with the howling winds, the taller and more muscled body falling through the air, the sound coming to an immediate stop accompanied by the echo of something hitting the bottom of the cliff.

The brunet sways a little in his spot, the muscles in his legs strained, his lungs burning from all the icy air he inhaled through their chase.

When he regains a bit of awareness of his surroundings, he can’t help the miserable, quiet whimper that escapes his throat when he finds he has little to no clue whatsoever about his location, where he came from. The blizzard merely gives a windy laugh in his ears, having washed away their dirty footprints with a new layer of untouched, angelic snow. He is lost.

Brown eyes turn to be drawn back to over the cliff, and he sees the bottom, the blond stranger lying still in the snow on his back. The brunet gulps lightly, focusing on the figure, any sign of movement, any sign of _anything_.

A single groan of pain reaches the brunet’s ears, and he feels somewhat calmer that he didn’t directly kill someone, not yet having anybody’s blood on his hands.

Another groan follows, but the blond doesn’t seem to be conscious anymore, lying on his deathbed of snow and ice. The brunet knows, that the fall may not have killed him, but whatever injuries that followed would lead the stranger to be immensely vulnerable, would lead him to either die from the cold, starve to death, or maybe even get killed by an animal.

His legs twitch as he lightly bounces on his steps, and as his eyes really get the chance to take in his attacker, he becomes more and more ordinary. If the immediate attention towards his bag with his dinner was anything to go by, he guesses the blond was desperate for food. He’s not a monster, but a man in need, probably far away from what is safe and sound.

Just like him.

The brunet harshly chews on the insides of his cheeks and descends down the cliff, agile, careful. His anxiety is screaming for him to climb back up and leave the blond, whispering him in his ear that it’s all a trap, and that the world is a cruel no-mans-land. How foolish it is of him, to believe in anything good about people at this point, that he should definitely know better.

The brunet finally connects with solid ground and walks over to the taller male.

Yet, when he gazes down upon his attacker, still in the snow, growling with pain under his breath, all he can see is a reflection of himself, his own insanity toying with him. He doesn’t know the other’s story, but he hardly needs to know it to see someone who is just as lost as him.

The brunet leans down to check the blond’s pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there, and that is good enough to work with as he with gentle care, moves the blond into a nearby cave, shielding them from the blizzard.

.

_“O wayfarer, the crows follow your journey. Your path never pure as a pilgrim wayfarer, it is gone the vim. Your path never pure as a pilgrim wayfarer, O your path never as pure as a pilgrim.”_

**Author's Note:**

> We're starting the big thing.


End file.
